


that unwanted animal

by Jupiter117



Series: The Devil’s Temptations [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst and Feels, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Extended Metaphors, M/M, Metaphors, Non-Graphic Smut, Not Beta Read, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, We Die Like Men, i also wrote this at 11pm so pls forgive any spelling errors, little bit of something for everyone, theyre both bad at communicating in this, using ‘the amazing devil’ songs as prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23114218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiter117/pseuds/Jupiter117
Summary: They shouldn’t fit together, all their edges too different, all their pieces too mismatched. Yet their stubbornness, too, they share, and those things don’t stop them from trying to force the fit, again and again and again.—All works in this series can be read as stand-alones. Order will changed based on track numbers.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Devil’s Temptations [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661431
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75





	that unwanted animal

It’s a routine. It’s a habit. It’s an ever-present threat. 

Jaskier isn’t good at staying out of trouble. He knows that. But Geralt isn’t any better. It’s one of the few things they have in common. Oh, sure, they like to travel, they aren’t afraid to fight, they are willing to work for their coin. But everything else? Night and day. Fire and wind. They shouldn’t fit together, all their edges too different, all their pieces too mismatched. Yet their stubbornness, too, they share, and those things don’t stop them from trying to force the fit, again and again and again. 

They danced around each other for years. Splitting and coming back. Spending nights curled into each other and mornings saying their goodbyes. A summer breeze bending a small campfire. 

And then the flames choke the air with smoke on the top of a mountain. 

It takes awhile for them to find each other again after that. Jaskier sticks to peaceful towns; Geralt’s path twists to the call of monsters. But destiny has always been a force, the very earth they walk on, and it is inevitable that they cross paths again. Inevitable that circumstances force them together. Inevitable that Jaskier finds himself waist deep in a lake, following the golden eyed glint of a siren singing his songs in a tone too gravelly and familiar to be ignored; inevitable that Geralt would strike down the imposter and drag him back to shore, awkward, tense quietness following them back to the nearest town. And Jaskier—oh, Jaskier has been burned before but he follows Geralt anyway, comes into his room with some semblance of hope.

They do not match. They do not fit. And it is inevitable that they cannot get it right this time either. 

Geralt mutters a gruff, “We’ll be heading north tomorrow so pack warm.”

Jaskier bristles, stiffens, snaps back, “Who the fuck said I was coming with you?”

And it starts. 

The wind whips up the fire; the rocks around the pit cannot contain it. It spreads on the dead grass around it and the air feeds it, fanning it, until Jaskier is pinned against the wall and Geralt’s mouth is on his, biting and licking and _taking taking taking._

Jaskier gives—oh, how he gives. 

Geralt’s calloused fingers nearly pop off the buttons of his doublet as he opens it up, sharp teeth moving to attack his neck instead. Jaskier’s moans are loud, hissing things, bruises blooming across his skin. The silk garment slides to the floor in a crumpled heap and Geralt keeps pressing closer and closer, one hand sliding under his thigh to keep it hitched up, give him room to rock his hips into the bard’s. Jaskier tangles his hand into ashen white hair; he’s not gentle when he pulls and the snarl he gets in return pierces him, dragging a groan from his lips. 

He manages to get Geralt’s shirt off before the Witcher loses patience. He’s lifted from the ground, Geralt’s hands tight on his sides, his thighs automatically wrapping around his waist. It takes two wide strides for Geralt to get to the bed and when he does—Jaskier is thrown down onto it, immediately chased after. 

Their timid dance has turned into something dangerous. The wind howls around them and the wildfire chars their bones. But they don’t stop—they can’t stop. Undershirts come off, boots, trousers, smallclothes; before they know it, Geralt’s teeth have left angry red patterns over Jaskier’s collarbone and hips, Jaskier has raked lines with his nails down Geralt’s back, and both of them are only just barely patient enough to properly prepare. 

The finesse Geralt might have had is eaten up by the animal that sits outside their door, scratching, demanding; his fingers are slick from oil and merciless inside Jaskier, stretching and thrusting and stroking the silken walls. They’re going to have to pay extra in the morning for this—Jaskier can’t keep his mouth shut, shouting and cursing and feeling the beast’s teeth ripping his heart from his ribcage with every push and drag inside him. 

Geralt’s fingers disappear. He barely has time to breathe before the Witcher is spearing into him, his cock filling him until he has nothing left to give, wrists pinned to the bed and lips demanding him open. Open he does, and _gods above,_ they pant and snarl into each other, Jaskier’s ankles locked at the small of his back and Geralt’s fingers leaving bruises shaped like shackles. 

Jaskier comes with a yell and with Geralt’s teeth in his throat. He’s wrecked and ruined but Geralt finds his release inside him soon after anyway. Geralt’s tongue soothes the sting from the bites when he pulls out; he lays beside Jaskier, arm wrapped possessively around his waist, and Jaskier doesn’t suggest they clean up, too afraid that the moment he lets this beast of his go, he’ll never see it again. They fall asleep like that, the wind still in the trees and the flames little more than a spark in the kindling. 

The next morning, they go north.

One time becomes two. Two becomes three. Three continues on as Jaskier stops bothering to keep count. 

They set each other off. Jaskier compares him to his White Wolf moniker and then the two of them are half clothed and rutting and biting on the forest floor, new marks added to the ones that are still fading away. Geralt says some unkind thing and it escalates, until Jaskier is balls deep inside him, wringing hoarse cries and tremors from his dear Witcher as he holds him down, taking from him what he wants. 

They don’t talk about it, no matter how many times it happens. It is unspoken, the conversation an unwanted animal, but that doesn’t change _what_ , in fact, it is.

Each time they part, they come back. Each time they fuck, they curl into each other to sleep. Each time they try to put an end to their—whatever this is, the wind bends the trees and the fire rages through the valley. The beast claws at the door day after day and they inevitably let it back in, only to have it tear them open again and again. It isn’t healthy. It isn’t good. But it’s _them._

They don’t fit. They will never fit. 

That won’t stop them from trying. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr as [briar-bunny.](www.briar-bunny.tumblr.com) Come chat or send me a fic prompt!


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